No Going Back
by liferaft
Summary: Not everything fits into a world concerned with right and wrong. Jo's uncertain, Zaf's in trouble, Adam's losing it and Ruth's just moved on. And, of course, there's the imminent destruction of civilisation to contend with on a daily basis.
1. Quite So Fiercely

Disclaimer: You know, my shrink keeps telling me I don't own Zaf, but it's just so hard to grasp...

A/N: My first fic in like forever. Would love to know what you think! (and will take ideas for the rest!)  
Also thanks to Catherine, Gracie and rosfan for various beta duties. And to my PoNo girls as always.

* * *

_Her hands grip the railings too tightly; she is, she thinks, on a white knuckle ride. Her throat constricts; her head is across another river with another spook, centuries ago in black and white and brilliant colour. Shaking then, too. Cursed and cast aside and kept alive only by anticipation, by the wait for this one, shining moment that would stop the grey._

_And now that it's here, she has to force the words to come._

"_So what happens now?"_

_Zaf shrugs. Of course. Zaf is still Zaf, and there's some comfort in that, and this is easy for him. She knows all this but that shrug and his next words,_

"_You come back. You come back, Ruth, and it's all okay"_

_are so naïve, so kind, so the misguided hero that she almost laughs in his face._

_And when she asks the obvious question,_

"_And what if I don't?"_

_she can't hold it back anymore, the unstoppable mirth, that none of them would even consider this, that anything that didn't fit with their neat little universe of right and wrong and east and west and love versus terror simply could not be true._

_He's unsure now. "Ruth?"_

"_No." She steels herself to look him in the eye, and doesn't like what she finds. "Eva. Thank you, Zaf, thank everyone for everything you've done. But I don't know. I just don't know."_

_Silence. She leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. "I hope you understand."_

_Ruth – Eva – leaves him standing, cradling his file. He waits, breath rising when she stops at the traffic lights and tilts her head, looking for one moment as if she might turn back._

_She doesn't._


	2. Dot Matrix

**One month later**

"Sugar" Jo snaps delicately, straightening up with the sides of the sink for support and inadvertantly catching sight of herself in the mirror. She could really do without being sick today; should things not go well for Zaf, her testimony could make all the difference and she needs to look more reliable than she feels.

There's a ringing in her ears; a million offbeat percussionists are practising in her temples and the giant rubber band around her stomach makes it difficult to breathe. Nerves, she tells herself. Nothing more than simple stress at having to do the impossible, again, and the consequences being so much greater if she fails.

So she won't fail. Easy as that. And anything else...she can deal with later.

She knocks back a double dosage with a glass of water, glances back at the mirror and reaches for her makeup case.

* * *

Normally Harry would argue, but he sees the glint in Juliet's eye, and because old hands understand each other, he holds back. She knows something he doesn't. And she has a plan.

Morocco is not somewhere he's overly familiar with, but he'd always though of it as something of a haven; French-speaking, market-trading, fez-wearing rug vendors and snake charmers. The madness of the Middle East turned into a theme park ride; all the culture, little of the danger. Close, but not too close. Not too much of a threat.

Clearly, he's been mistaken.

The DG continues "I'm sorry to be taking your only...stable agent from you, Harry, but needs must, yes? What's best for the service is best for all of us, yes?"

He has several inches over Harry in height but not in stature, and a hunched back that turns him into a walking question mark in body as well as speech. Everything about him is irritating, from the mock expensive watch to the pink flush creeping over the collar of his shirt. He does not deserve the position he holds - one day soon the reckoning will come, and Harry and Juliet have privately agreed they want front row seats when it does.

But there's that glint in her eye again. It will have to wait.

"Yes, sir. I'm sure Ros will do an excellent job, sir."

The man's chin lifts at the slight, mocking lilt on the last 'sir' and Juliet raises an eyebrow at Harry from behind his back.

"Thankyou, Harry, I'm sure she will. Isn't it Mr. Younis' inquiry today? Good luck with that – maybe you can manage to hold onto one of your officers a little longer, hmmm? Wouldn't hurt?"

* * *

"Let's talk about Rosalind Myers."

He grimaces. "Let's not, eh?"

Diana is clearly trying to provoke him into something. He's almost willing to just let himself go; accept the excuse to get it over with and shout and scream and cry, even, and see if it might help.

He didn't cry the last time he was here. When Fiona died. He kept it together, and it's disrespectful, somehow, to break down now.

"Are you having a relationship?"

"No."

"Were you having a relationship prior to your...episode?"

He can't pretend he doesn't know what she means, however much he wants to. "Maybe."

"And you still have feelings for her?"

Truth hurts. It hurts, but he won't be provoked. He won't. "Yes."

And Diana nods and scribbles something on her pad like he's just told her what's for breakfast or the cricket scores or his lifelong ambition to fly to Jupiter, and Adam Carter sits back in his chair and wonders if there's ever really a point to it all.


End file.
